Your Devils and Your Deeds
by AnnaYesMaam
Summary: A view of the finale that Ted Mosby didn't see and couldn't see, no matter how much the writing was on the wall. Spanning decades and continents, their story was never perfect and they were never perfect, but they were always right.
1. Prologue

**Title:** "Your Devils and Your Deeds"  
**Author:** Anna-Yes-Ma'am  
**Rating**: Hard R (Language, sexual content)  
**Summary:** A view of the finale that Ted Mosby didn't see and couldn't see, no matter how much the writing was on the wall. Spanning decades and continents, their story was never perfect and they were never perfect, but they were always right.  
**Characters/Pairings:** Barney/Robin  
**Disclaimer:**Not mine!

**Author's Note:** This came out of me way faster than I expected (and the quality may reflect that). But I was way more gutted by last night's finale than I anticipated, especially after having more or less given up on the show this year. This fic is sort of my way to deal, I guess. I know most fans want light-hearted erasure right now, but the way I need to handle closure is making sense of the finale as it stood. It won't be an easy task and it may not work for everyone, since I'm going to try to keep it as canon as possible (except for the absurd notion that Ted and Robin actually get back together) So, my big point is that this particular story might be a bit more complicated than some of you may want right now (and I totally understand that!) and it definitely won't always paint Barney or Robin in the best, happiest light. However, I believe in them and I believe their fate deserved more than the writers gave them. This is my take on getting them their winding and flawed but ultimately happy ending.

**Author's Note 2:** There may be continuity issues with the finale because I don't want to rewatch. Just an FYI.

...

_You're in my blood like holy wine  
You taste so bitter  
and so sweet..._

**Upper East Side, New York City, New York, 2030**

It was improbable that the restaurant still existed, let alone that the decor hadn't changed. After the breathless drive into the city, Ted Mosby parked the family car in an absurdly expensive lot and found himself at the French restaurant once again, marveling at its structure and vaguely trying to believe that its ongoing business signaled some kind of sign. He believed in those once; it shouldn't be too hard to believe again. Staring around at the yellowed walls (or maybe more golden saffron), Ted just...remembered. He remembered Robin, sitting across from him, laughing at his jokes. His stupid, ill-timed jokes about penises that he only made because the gorgeous woman in front of him made him so nervous. It seemed ridiculous now. She had been barely an adult, only 23 years old. How could he have been so terrified, so shaken to his core by such an incomplete creature?

He blinked twice. That was hardly a romantic thought. And he was here to rekindle or return or something. Either way, it was very romantic. Penny told him so.

_She's a child, a young girl, who lost her mother only six years ago, Ted. You know she's been grasping at straws ever since. She so wants you to be happy._

He tried to ignore the voice in his head. But it went on. It told him that life didn't move in circles, that life never moved in circles. It was linear or fragmented, but it always moved forward no matter how much you tried to force your blueprints on it. You cannot build a circle. _You should know better than anyone that a perfect circle doesn't even exist in nature, Mr. Architect._ The voice was soft, laughing, teasing. It sounded like her.

It always sounded like her.

Clenching his jaw, Ted moved towards the maitre d' in a steely daze. He was here for a reason. He was here for a reason. Words flowed out of him and the conversation seemed pleasant. He was too old to steal anymore, he had to go about this the legitimate way. The right way.

_By exploiting your wife's death in a sob story? Gee, thanks, Mosby._

"Shut up." He harshly muttered under his breath and Harold (the maitre d', apparently) quickly raised his eyebrow. Ted plastered on a tight grin and apologized for his verbal tic. Money exchanged hands and his sweaty palms gripped the smooth circle (_circles, circles_) of the instrument. It looked faded to him, but it was probably his imagination. Or maybe his eyesight really was going, like Luke always joked.

Ted took a taxi only a few blocks away. He wondered if Robin knew she lived so close to the restaurant, their restaurant. He wondered if she ever ate there or walked passed it with a longing smile or sigh. He wondered what her life was like. Was she happy? He hadn't seen her since the funeral. He hadn't been sure if she would come. They barely spoke. She had been in the corner throughout most of the wake, her eyes pained and her elbows far too thin. It was almost like she couldn't approach him or didn't want to or didn't know how to. And Ted wasn't sure what he would have done if she had given him anything other than a cursory weak hug. Tracy had loved her, in her own way. But it wasn't the same as how Tracy felt for Lily (who had been inconsolable) or even Barney (who had been unusually lost in thought). Tracy was Ellie's godmother and Lily's true best friend. Robin had never stepped up, not the way she was supposed to. And for that, Ted had been angry. For a really, really long time.

But yet here he was, standing at her doorstep. Buzzing her door, waiting on the stoop, hoping against hope that the woman of his dreams (_yes, she was_) would still want him. Just like before, just like always. There was no rain this time, but there may as well have been. And the constant gnawing at his stomach, the guilt he felt that he lived and Tracy didn't, reached a fever pitch.

Until he saw her. And her smile.

This time, he went to her. Rushing as fast as he could up the stairs, he waited outside her door which eagerly swung open.

"Ted Mosby!" Her face was flushed and wild, laughing. She pushed a dalmatian back so he couldn't make a great escape. "I can't believe it!"

"Hi Robin." He smiled sheepishly, slipping into her large apartment much to the chagrin of her (quite literal) pack of dogs.

"Hi." She repeated, cocking her head. "How are you?"

"Good, and you?"

"Fine." She sent her dogs to the other room with a pat on each of their bellies. "How are the kids?"

"Oh, you know. Too tall, too smart, too old." He laughed, rocking back and forth on his feet.

"I'll bet. I can't believe I haven't seen them in such a long time." She brushed her (newly?) black hair behind her ears and grinned maybe a little too brightly. "I just can't believe you're here! It's been too long."

"It has." Ted nodded in eager agreement. Robin smiled again and they both laughed a little, not quite sure what to say. She opened her mouth a little like she had something on her mind, but shook her head, seeming to think better of it. Instead, she turned to face her old friend head on with a quiet snort, awkwardly crossing her arms over her chest. Ted cleared his throat and looked around at her sparsely decorated apartment, not quite remembering what he was doing there. But the cold metal in his hand unexpectedly sparked and he jolted back.

"Uh, um. Right. Here." He thrust the blue French horn at her, his arm heavy and leaden. "This is, uh, for you."

"Is it-?" Robin delicately ran her manicured finger on the mouthpiece and Ted nodded.

"The one and only." He swallowed hard, as the incessant gnawing came back. "The restaurant is still open, isn't that crazy?"

"And they haven't updated their decor in 25 years? That's some serious commitment to tackiness." She laughed, half-heartedly. Robin was gently touching it, but she wasn't grasping it. Ted wanted to shout at her to just take it, that his arm was hurting, that he looked stupid.

"And smurf penises." He chuckled instead. Robin offered a wane smile and was silent for a moment.

"Ted..." She trailed off before looking down at the floor, biting her lip in an uncharacteristically girlish manner. Ted briefly touched her arm and tilted his head, encouraging her to speak.

"You didn't have to do this." She finally said.

"What do you mean?" Ted asked, genuinely confused by her melancholic tone.

"I just..." Her voice was quiet. "I feel like I'm the one who should have come with a peace offering. I'm the one who fucked up, Ted. Not you."

"Peace offering?" He wasn't really sure what that meant. This wasn't a peace offering. It was his heart.

"Well, isn't that what this is?" Her eyes were still so big and beautiful. "We haven't spoken in almost four years and I know...I know how hard those years must have been for you and the kids. And I wasn't there. I should have been, I know, but..."

"Robin, this isn't a peace offering." Ted's eyebrows furrowed and his heart rate increased. How could she not see this for what it was? It was a gesture. This object, this one singular object represented their relationship. Their love. Their lost years.

"But then-" And her eyes got even bigger with realization. "Oh. Oh. ...Oh, Ted."

_Oh, Ted._ Those were two words in a very specific tone of voice that he knew well.

_I would always say them quite differently than her._

This time, the voice was explicitly Tracy and his blood vessels froze for the briefest of seconds. But it didn't matter anymore.

Tracy was dead. Robin was very much alive.

Robin's hand was clutched against her heart and she started pacing, muttering expletives under her breath. She stopped and turned on a dime, placing her fingers against her temple under her terrible hair cut. Ted blinked back that thought harshly. He was here to declare his love or something, not criticize her. Her hand moved to cover her mouth and she closed her eyes, breathing heavily.

"Ted, this is probably why we should talk...more." She finally said, her voice airless and child-like. "Things have been happening...happened."

"Of course things have happened." He rushed to her and tried to hold her arms, but she swiftly pulled them away. "Robin, we're not the same people, but we've always had this connection. You can't deny that."

"And I don't." Robin spat out rawly, her voice scratchy and tears forming in her eyes. "I don't deny that, Ted. You are the best friend I've ever had and I'm so sorry I threw that away. And I'm so, so sorry about Tracy."

"This isn't about Tracy, Robin. Or the past." He tried to coo, ignoring the desperation rising in his throat. She couldn't be turning him down. Not again. Not like this. Not after all this time when they were both alone and both lost in a world that didn't include the other. "This is about you and me."

"Ted." Tears now actually flowed down her face and she shook her head. "Ted, it was never about you and me. Not really. It was about you and Tracy, and it was about-"

"Tracy's dead." Ted said aloud, his face as stony and cold as his voice. "Tracy. Is. Dead. How can it all be about Tracy and me when she's _gone_? Her children barely knew her, Robin. Her own children didn't get to really see how wonderful and kind and loving and goofy and so damn smart she was and now all I have left are tainted memories of hospitals and sympathy baskets and shards of my feelings for you, so would you please just do me a favor and _take the fucking horn_?"

Robin froze and slowly nodded, mechanically taking the blue french horn from him and sitting on the couch. She opened her mouth a few times and closed it tightly, trying to speak.

"You and me, we're right." Ted said slowly, gravelly. "I know it and you know it. We're both alone and all we have is each other."

"Ted, you're not alone." Robin looked up at him, mystified. "You have your children. Aren't they the loves of your life?"

"Of course they are, but not in the-" He sat down next to her, making sure his thigh didn't touch hers. He couldn't risk contact. "But I miss companionship. I miss real romantic love. Don't you?"

Robin's eyebrows came together and she bit the inside of her mouth. And Ted realized.

"Oh, god." He leaned back. "You're not alone."

She nodded meekly, touching the keys and running her palms across the wide circle of the instrument; _their_ instrument.

"Is it serious?" Ted asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It's...complicated. But yes, I think so." Robin finally spoke. "He and I...we're...it's a long story."

"Does he live here? With you and all these dogs?" Ted snorted out bitterly. "Is he about to come through the bedroom door to laugh at me?"

"No. He doesn't live here." Robin pursed her lips. "Ted, I feel like I need to tell you this now, since you came here...for me, so when I tell you this, I need for you not to freak out, okay?"

"Freak out?" Ted's heart rate rose at just the suggestion. "Why would I freak out?"

"We weren't planning on telling anyone. Not for a long time. Maybe not even...ever." Robin clasped her hands and sat up straight. "These years have been hell and misery in so many ways, but I think I'm finally coming out the other side knowing who I am and what I want. I'll never be a pole-vaulter, but it feels like my life has taken me so many amazing routes, but there was always one port that I filtered home to or maybe that even followed me where I went. Does that make sense?"

"Not really." Ted's eyes were closed. "But I'm bracing myself."

Robin sucked a tight breath in through her teeth and stared straight ahead before saying the words Ted wouldn't have guessed if you'd held a gun to his head (and in some ways, he wished you had):

"Ted, the guy...it's Barney. It's always been Barney."

Circus music danced in Ted's head and he was suddenly very, very hot.

Of course.

_Of course._

Thrusting himself up, he pushed the couch out of his way, startling Robin and making her dogs bark in tune to the loud music that just wouldn't stop ringing in his ears and his brain and his hot, hot stomach that was gnawing, screaming, clenching. Tracy is dead. Tracy was dead. Dead. Gone. Deceased. Never to return. Dead. _The love of your life is dead, Teddy Bear._ And yet Robin and Barney were the ones still haunting him. Like evil spectres ripping out his insides, they were still there, they still danced on his wife's grave and his shattered hopes.

Fuck them.

Fuck them.

_Fuck them._

Grabbing one of Robin's dining room chairs, Ted slammed it starkly in front of her and leveled an intense gaze at her before slowly sitting down, face to face with Barney's ex-wife.

"Well?!" He asked, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. Robin was shaking and her eyes were welling up again. Good. She should cry. She deserves to feel his wrath, his pain, his agony. Because _fuck them_.

"Well, what?" Robin wobbled out, her irises tinted with genuine fear.

"You said it's a long story." Ted leaned back and crossed his arms. "I just told my kids a very, _very_ long story and that's how I ended up here. So maybe it's my turn."

"What?" Robin ran her hands through her truly awful, hideous hair.

He gave her a joyless smile. "I _said_, maybe it's _my_ turn. So, go ahead, _Robin_. Tell me a fucking story."

And then without warning, Robin jumped to her feet and thrashed her arms wildly into the air, making even the intensely focused Ted jump.

"You know what, _Ted_?" She spat out, her eyes narrowing in ratio to his bulging eyes. "I invited you into my home because I thought we were finally going to make amends. I thought that your wife's death and your growing kids and all the changes we've seen and experienced as we get older and older made you miss me as a friend or, god forbid, as an actual _person _that you cared about. But instead, you're pulling this same crap and you know what? I don't owe you shit. I don't deserve this. _Get out_."

Robin was now standing in her foyer with the door swung wide open, her eyes red and hot and her hands shaking violently. Her dogs growled and barked in the background, and Ted felt vaguely unaware of reality.

_Ted_, the voice said, _Ted, she's right. She's right. You know she's right._

"Robin." His face drained color and he slumped over in the chair, holding his head between his legs.

"Get out." Robin repeated, her voice not wavering.

"Robin." He pleaded, looking up at her, tears running down his face. She paused and clutched the doorknob, her jaw clenching. "Robin, I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm sorry."

_Why are you really here, Ted? Tell her why you're really here._

"I just..." He whispered as sobs began to wrack his body. Robin quietly closed the door, but didn't move. "I just miss her so much and I don't know how...I don't know how I'm here and she's not. I've been puzzling it through in my brain and through my past and through my and-and-and _our_ stories, but none of it makes sense. I don't know how to make this fate or destiny or anything other than shitty. And I just...I don't know what to do, Robin."

Through his blurred vision, he saw her form sit back down on the couch and lean over to gently touch his shoulder, maybe a bit hesitantly.

"I love her, Robin. And she's gone." He bit his fist and crumpled into himself, barely registering Robin's gentle hand moving in waves across his back. "I'm sorry. I never should have placed this on you. I don't care about you and Barney getting back together or whatever, I really don't. It's your business and we barely know each other anymore and this...wasn't fair. I just...I just want to be whole again."

Robin sat back for a few moments while Ted composed himself. Sitting up and wiping snot off his chapped lips, he tried to meet her gaze but she was lost in thought. He scratched the back of his neck and cleared his throat, standing.

"I think I'm just gonna...go. You can keep the blue french horn. You deserve it." He chuckled humorlessly. "At least this story makes the one where I told you I loved you on our first date look slightly less psychotic."

"Istanbul." Robin suddenly blurted out just as Ted was grabbing the doorknob. He turned back in confusion and she was staring right at him.

"Istanbul?" Ted repeated.

"That's where the story begins. Istanbul, in late 2016."

Ted stared at her silently for a moment and Robin sighed in frustration.

"Look, do you want to hear the story or not? It's a limited time offer."

Wordlessly, Ted moved across her living room and sat in the chair, nodding curtly. Robin nodded curtly in return, and she cleared her throat.

"Right. Okay. So. As I was saying: Istanbul, late 2016. I was on assignment, covering a factory explosion. I had never been to Turkey before, so I was pretty excited, especially since I was still fairly fresh off, you know, the divorce. Barney and I had parted ways relatively amicably, but we hadn't talked in months - not since the last time we all got together. In fact, we had pretty much an unspoken agreement to keep our lives, well, pretty unspoken. And it was fine. Life pulled us naturally in different directions and I don't think we really missed each other very much that first year. I even met a guy in New York that I was casually seeing; another foreign correspondent and we were actually co-leads on the story. It seemed like I was finally settled in where I was supposed to be in life, pretty permanently maybe."

She chuckled, "But boy, was I wrong."

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter One

**Title:** "Your Devils and Your Deeds"

**Chapter: **1/10  
**Author:** Anna-Yes-Ma'am  
**Rating:** Hard R (Language, sexual content)  
**Summary:** A view of the finale that Ted Mosby didn't see and couldn't see, no matter how much the writing was on the wall. Spanning decades and continents, their story was never perfect and they were never perfect, but they were always right.  
**Characters/Pairings:** Barney/Robin

Author's Note: This one is a little rough on our favorite duo. But it's only a few months fresh off the D-day (which was still quite difficult to realistically justify, frankly), so keep that in mind.

...

_I'm frightened by the devil  
__And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid._

...

**Istanbul, Turkey, December 2016**

_"Maybe soon I'll finally get to go to Turkey." She smiled, rubbing her hand against her husband's temple. "Istanbul is supposed to be beautiful. I can't believe I've never been."_

_"Robin, you're not even American. Why do you care about a country so associated with our Thanksgiving?"_

_She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes. Sometimes he pushed the fake ignorance so far that it felt real. Hell, sometimes she wondered if it actually was, and that was, in fact, the joke._

_"First of all, I am American. I have dual citizenship, remember? And secondly, if you gave countries outside your immediate experience a chance once in a while, I think you'd actually enjoy them."_

_"Doubtful." He sat up and cracked his neck. "I enjoy New York."_

_"Yeah, you've made that clear." Her eyes followed his form as he moved to their shared bathroom in the cramped Asian hotel room. "I'm not sure what you expected, really. We agreed that this would be fun. The two of us, adventuring around the world together."_

_A mirthless laugh echoed against the tile, "Sure, from typhoons to insurgencies to the assassination of diplomats. It's the fucking roller coaster ride of the century. Do we get blood-soaked cotton candy next?!"_

_"I'm doing good work!" Robin battled against the hot rise of defensiveness in her chest. "You said you were proud of me."_

_Barney was silent for a few moments after that before appearing in the doorway, backlit by the green fluorescent light. His eyes were shaded and she couldn't quite make out the emotion in them._

_"Of course I'm proud of you." His voice was quiet, almost breaking. "It's just...every time I go to sleep now, I..."_

_"You what? You miss your friends? Your mommy? I thought we were in this together." She demanded, tired of him beating around the bush. What the hell happened to the guy who bluntly said what he felt, without any regard for the people around him? Honesty forever, her ass._

_"Nothing. Forget it." He smiled tightly. "It's nothing. I'm proud of you, you're my wife, and this is great. I guess I'm just still adjusting. Can you try to be a little patient with me while I get used to this?"_

_Robin nodded quietly, biting her tongue from saying that he had more than a year now to get used to it, and watched as he silently moved into bed, turning his body away from her, no part of him touching her._

_She swallowed._

_"Good night, Barney."_

_"'Night." He responded, barely above a whisper. She swallowed again, this time pushing back tears that seemed to have no concrete origin._

_"I love you." She choked out cheerfully. And he was silent again for several long beats, longer than Robin could bear to breathe._

_"Love you too." But the tenor in his voice didn't change and it sounded...final._

_"Argentina next week won't be so bad." She promised. "Lots of steak and cigars for us to indulge in."_

_To that, he never responded._

"Ms. Scherbatsky?"

Robin jumped and put her hand to her chest, jolted and dazed. Amy, Global News Network's foreign research analyst was standing in front of her, holding out a file. Robin ran her fingers through her hair and blinked, taking in her surroundings. Centuries old mosques rose in the dusty background of a modern factory, blown to twisted shards of steel and glass. She swallowed back bile as she noted a blood stain beneath her feet. It seemed like the body counts rose with every country these days. And this time, no one in the government had any leads, even if some American companies seemed suspiciously squirrelly in the aftermath.

All in all, it was fucked up and deserved her utmost attention.

This was definitely not how she hoped she would end up here, even if it was one of the more beautiful places she'd been in all her life. She was used to the battle between excitement and despair upon every assignment. But being up close to such a terrible scene? Well, it would rock even the strongest wills. All foreign correspondents are accused of having death wishes, but she believed that even the most grisled would fall on their knees and weep at this sight.

"Sorry, Ms. Scherbatsky, but you said you wanted me to dig up the financials on the factory. There are a few things that don't make sense to me, so hopefully they'll lead somewhere."

"Thanks, Amy, I'll look at these tonight." Robin took the folder and placed it in her field bag. She mustered up as warm a smile as she could. "And for the last time, please call me Robin."

"Sorry. Robin."

"And stop apologizing." Robin smiled wider and patted the younger woman on her shoulder. She held back a laugh as Amy hiccuped out another 'Sorry...er, sorry for saying sorry...I mean-' and moved toward her first interview, the foreman of the factory.

"Mike, are we ready to roll soon?" She yelled to the crewman, as mics were situated on her lapel and another crew member gently prepped the shaken factory worker.

"You know, I'm happy to take this one if you want, Scherbats." A masculine voice crept up behind her, a welcome tease amidst the destruction.

"Oh, so you can get the interview with the only witness who has any kind of intel?" Robin rounded on her tall, laughing co-lead and smiled despite herself. "Try again next time, buddy."

"You'll knock it out of the park, as always, kiddo." He winked and Robin felt her core blush deeply. Greg was a nice distraction. A very nice distraction.

"Drinks later?" She called out to his retreating form. "Hotel bar?"

"Oh, god, yes." He laughed back. "This has been fucking depressing." He turned to an incensed woman and nodded. "Sorry for your loss, ma'am."

Robin smiled and bit her lip despite herself. Greg was an irreverent bastard, but at least he understood that gallows humor was the way to get by. He didn't just look at her in horror when she shrugged off a decapitated head or pace around the goddamn hotel room like a maniac when she was only a couple hours later than she originally said (and that,_yeah_, sometimes she didn't have cell service.) It was part of the job, and it wasn't going to change. Greg got that. Greg accepted that. Plus, he was super fantastic in bed and that never hurt anything.

And they never had to talk about anything serious, like her life back home or her failed marriage or any of that crap. They talked the job, they fucked, they joked around, they were done. Exactly how Robin wanted it.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment and steeled her gaze back to her interview. Nodding curtly, she raised her head high and turned to the crewman in the foreground.

"Are we ready, Mike? The news doesn't wait for you to finish eating a doughnut, man."

...

The Four Seasons Istanbul was even more luxurious than she hoped. Settling into a pristine white ornamental chair in the piano bar, Robin gazed out the window at the Sultan Ahmed Mosque and sipped her bone dry martini, letting the classical Moorish compositions send her far away from the explosion.

"You know, a lady usually waits for her gentleman caller before sipping the sauce." Greg sat down across from her, bar menu in hand. Robin smiled gamely and shrugged.

"I just know I can hold my liquor better than you, so I figured getting a head start was kinder. Won't hurt your masculine pride that way."

"Touche."

"What's your poison tonight?" She asked, rubbing the tip of her finger along her almost empty martini glass.

"Laphroig 21,absolutely." He gave her a toothy grin. "Best scotch in the world and one of my standards. Have you tried it? Are you into scotch?"

Robin's arm hairs stood on end.

"Scotch?" She breathed out. "You-you drink scotch?"

"If I could drink the shit like water, I would." Greg laughed and then faltered. "Er, Scherbats? Robin? You still with me?"

She hadn't even noticed that her knuckles went white and her faced drained of all color as her heart pounded and her bones shook with an irrational slicing fear through her intestines and extremities.

She barely registered the sound of her martini glass breaking against the white marble and the shard that ripped into her calf.

She definitely didn't notice Greg's shouting for assistance, as she fell to the cold floor, clutching her shoulders and breathing out wracked sobs and silent screams.

...

When Robin came to, she was lying in Greg's hotel room bed, wrapped tightly in a blanket. Rubbing her aching head, she sat up and immediately felt a cold glass of water pushed into her palm.

"Drink." Greg insisted. "You had a panic attack."

"Jesus, that's embarrassing." She croaked out between giant gulps of the cool water against her raw throat. "Sorry about that."

"Well, I've certainly never seen a scotch phobia before, but it's always interesting to experience something new." He half-laughed, keeping his arms crossed as he looked at her, clearly waiting for an explanation.

"More like an ex-husband phobia." Robin tried to inject humor into her words, but they fell flat. Greg's eyebrows raised and she sighed. "Sorry, I should have told you that my marriage only ended about six months ago."

"Or that you were married at all." He half-accused, half-joked.

"Or that." Robin conceded, leaning back against the bed frame. "He was a big scotch drinker."

"Was he abusive or something?" He asked, pretty reasonably considering her reaction. Robin quickly shook her head.

"No, no. Not at all. He's a good man. We were just...I don't know." She swallowed and plastered on a smile. "I guess I haven't dealt with it very much. I've just been so busy. But I'm fine. I'm over it. It's not like it haunts me every day or anything."

_Liar._

"That was a helluva response for someone who is over it."

"It was a delayed response more than anything. And he and I were very good friends beforehand, so I'm mourning that a bit. We don't talk anymore."

Greg nodded and leaned back against the bed frame, resting his temple against Robin's.

"Normally, I'd cut and run here." He admitted. "But we've got a pretty sweet thing going and I don't think either of is looking for something serious, right?"

Robin genuinely laughed at that. "Oh, god. No. Blech."

"So." He clapped his hand on her knee and sat up. "What we're going to do is take a deep breath, pretend this never happened, and look over our case files to try to get something of a lead. The network is up our assholes to get something tangible to cover, and they'll be pissed if CNN gets the scoop."

"Or god forbid, Fox." Robin laughed.

"Do they even have foreign correspondents? I thought they said it was unpatriotic or something."

"I think they have one who just yells 'DEMOCRACY!' in Middle Easterners' faces over and over again."

Greg chuckled and rubbed Robin's thigh.

"Alright, Scherbats. On the count of three. One...two...three." And the two of them took a dramatically deep breath and sighed it out. Laughing as Greg pulled her up off the bed, Robin smirked and put her hands on her hips.

"Okay, champ." She said, ruffling his hair. "Whatcha waiting for? Let's get cracking!"

"The news never sleeps." He agreed, smirking back.

After a brief (well, not so brief) interlude and hours of filing through useless paperwork ("Who the hell cares that one of the janitors' great-uncles had ties to the Nazi regime?" Greg asked in frustration, nearly throwing his laptop across the room), Robin finally reached into her bag and pulled out the file Amy had given her earlier.

"Well, if it wasn't an act of terrorism, domestic or otherwise, nor was it a machinery error," Robin licked her thumb and flipped through the hundred-page document, "Then we need to look into their holding company and overseas accounts. I'm telling you, AltruCell has _something_ to do with this."

"AltruCell?" Greg poked his head up out of his frustrated hands, "The tennis ball company?"

Robin snorted, "Please tell me you aren't so green to think that's what they really do."

"I've heard rumors, but never anything definitive." He leaned back and sighed. "Maybe I _am_ green."

"I know that Typhon Corp, which has at least nominal holding over the Turkish operations, went under recently." Robin went to the footnotes immediately, remembering that's where accountants keep their mistakes, "Yet the factory was running as late as last week with cash to burn. And this contract is dated 2008, which is years before Typhon even _existed_. So something's not adding up, and that something is really fucking fishy."

"And why do you think AltruCell has something to do with this, again?" Greg asked, taking the beginning of Robin's contract pages and reading them himself.

"Because this has their trademark all over it. Plus, I know I've seen Typhon Corp in connection with AltruCell, I just...I can't remember what the connecting element is." Robin explained. "And they're huge into investing in emerging robotics, which is where the source explosion originated. We know the explosion wasn't an accident, so something went wrong. My gut says that someone wanted to cover something up. And the financiers are where we can get to the bottom of it. Don't doubt the power of American greed, my American friend."

"Goliath National Bank." Greg furrowed his brow, mostly ignoring Robin and instead reading a line from the one of the first pages. "Apparently, Typhon is a shell company for them. Didn't they have a recent raid by the feds, just a few years ago?"

"Goliath National...wait, GNB? Let me see that." Robin ripped the page from his hand and read over the complicated legalese, granting GNB permissions to fund Typhon properties and operations and, in effect, building the company from the ground up, probably for tax purposes. It didn't make sense that GNB would be on this deal, though it did give her the link to AltruCell. Especially since 2008 was the year of the hostile takeover, which meant...

Suddenly, a sick, dreadful feeling pooled in her stomach.

"Greg?" She whispered. "Do you have the signor page in your pile?"

"Yeah, I'm sure I do...let me see." He flipped through his large pile of papers. "Ah-ha! Yes. Uh, apparently the signors from the Typhon end were...Peter Gilmore? Or something like that? Might be Filmore. Also, the very clearly written Abigail Lewis. Excellent penmanship, madam."

"From the GNB end?" She asked, more harshly than intended. But Greg didn't seem to notice.

"And from the GNB end..."

Robin's heart raced so fast it felt like it stopped.

"...Someone called 'Barney Stinson.' And in parentheses next to the signature it says, 'That guy's awesome.'" Greg looked up at Robin with a slight frown. "That's sort of weird."

Robin stood up and walked over to the window.

"Greg, I've gotta go." She breathed out. "I have to make a phone call."

"Are you onto something?" His eyes perked up hopefully. "You're the best in the biz, kid."

"Yup." She replied curtly.

_Fuck._

_..._

Two days later, as Robin left the factory's ground zero, she punched her ex-husband's familiar number into phone for the twelfth time in so many hours.

"Barney, listen to me." She hissed into his voicemail. "I'm not calling you to try to catch up or get back together or whatever reason you think I'm reaching out. I don't want to talk to my ex-husband, or even my friend. I want to talk to Barney Stinson, former Goliath National Bank employee and FBI mole. As I've outlined in several messages, there is serious shit going on in Istanbul and I need your input. Call me back."

Wrapping her coat tightly around her small waist, Robin blew her bangs out of her face. She wasn't sure why he was being so childish. Hadn't they promised the gang that they were going to be fine friends? She actually needed him now, for once, and of course, he couldn't be there. Or wouldn't be there, since he was probably too busy getting laid or working on that damn blog. Frankly, she was surprised he hadn't sued her for alimony or something equally egregious, just so he wouldn't have to work another day in his life and instead could focus on teaching Bros How to Live or some other such nonsense.

"I hope he fucking burns in hell." She spat out under her breath, her feet racing along the narrow, winding streets, snow beginning to fall on her nose.

Of course, that wasn't true. But she was really, really pissed at him. Sure, maybe he wasn't up for talking to her. She could understand that. According to her last phone call with Lily, he was throwing himself back into "the game" which was always his most transparent cry for help. At least, to her. The rest of the "gang" always saw it as him reverting back to his natural self. Which, really, was pretty insulting to her, as his wife (_ex-wife_), like she was just a bump on his road to everlasting bachelorhood and awesomeness.

And she just couldn't believe that. She wouldn't believe that.

It would hurt too much.

Pushing in the large ornate doors of the hotel, Robin stomped her feet on the small rug placed out to rid her boots of the freshly fallen snow. Unbuttoning her coat, she glanced across the floor and her eyes immediately fell on pristinely polished black Prada loafers. And though there were probably many, many businessmen who stayed at the hotel who wore pristinely polished black Prada loafers, she knew who these would be attached to before she glanced up.

And once she did, she had to admit that it was strange that the mention of his favorite beverage had sent her into a tailspin just 48 hours earlier, but actually seeing him, only a few meters away? It felt...familiar. Almost comforting. He hadn't noticed that she walked in yet and his face was long and lined, so much more serious than anyone ever gave him credit for. She never quite understood why Ted always described him as so manic. Yes, sure, he definitely could be, especially when he was in performance mode. But the Barney she knew (really knew) was much quieter, much more steeled to the world, and even sensitive, in the literal sense, than any of their friends ever saw.

His lips pursed as he swiftly typed a text or email on his smartphone, probably the latest gadget that Robin hadn't even heard of. Slowly, like in a trance, she walked over to him and sighed, putting her hand on her hip.

"Do you always have to be so dramatic?" She finally said, surprised that her voice automatically defaulted to a gentle teasing. He blinked, as though broken out of thought, and moved his hooded eyes up to hers.

"Robin." His voice was unusually monotonous. "I didn't see you there. Sorry."

His eyes were darker than usual and she could tell he didn't want to play.

"Well, I definitely wasn't expecting to see you here." She crossed her arms. "A phone call would do."

He barked out a laugh. "Yeah, not really. On a phone call, you could hang up on me."

"And why would I do that?"

"Is there somewhere we can go to talk?" He asked, blatantly ignoring her. "Ideally, with a little more privacy?"

"There's my room." She offered.

"Not that private." Barney scowled a little, not looking at her, wiping a nonexistent stain off his suit's lapel. She laughed a little, not really surprised at the pang of hurt that reverberated through her core.

"Okay, then." She swallowed, tapping her foot. "You're certainly in a mood. The hotel's piano bar is usually pretty quiet, especially in the early afternoon."

"Great, sounds good. Over there?" He stood up firmly, moving quickly past her and pointing toward the large doors. She nodded, and they silently walked in unison into the bar.

...

Settling into the furthest corner and each ordering a very, very stiff drink, they stared at each other for a few tense, silent moments until Robin finally cleared her throat and broke.

"So did you fly out all this way just to get an awkward drink with me or what?"

Barney glared at her and took a sip of his scotch before gently placing it down on the coaster. Robin rolled her eyes. He was always so meticulous. Drove her crazy.

"Robin," his voice was gravelly and grave. "You need to leave Istanbul. Now."

Well, that certainly wasn't what she was expecting to hear.

"Excuse me?" Robin's eyebrow quirked up. "I'm here on assignment. It's not my choice."

Barney laughed loudly and shook his head.

"I am not getting into _that_ again." He said, the words cutting like knives against his teeth. "But I'm serious. You need to go upstairs, pack your bags, and get the hell out here. You are in over your head."

"According to who?" She crossed her arms, definitely not planning on simply taking Barney's word for it. "The fictional idea of what my job looks like in your head?"

He froze for a second, before leaning back and his eyes crinkling together like a wounded dog. He averted his gaze from her and stared for a moment, before violently shaking his head as though trying to come back from a stupor.

"I'm not just an FBI mole, you know." He said, tracing circles with his finger around his coaster, still not looking at her. "I'm also working with the National Security Agency, briefly, while the loose ends still tie up. Of course, I will vehemently deny that if you try to tell anyone. And I can't go into much detail, but I do happen to know that this..._assignment_ is bad news and that reporters would do well to just put the facts out there as they stand and then _get out_."

"But the facts are incomplete." Robin demanded. "That's why I need to talk to you. You signed off on this deal."

He snorted. "Robin, I signed off on arms trades with the North Korean government. And you know what? That would be less dangerous for you to get involved in than this."

"You're biased." She accused. "You think everything I do is too dangerous."

"Not my problem anymore, remember?" He stared at her dead in her eyes this time. "But as your..._friend_ and as a representative of the United States government, it's my duty to warn you that this time really is different. You need to leave. And you can't publish any of your findings, especially not for a US-based network. Not now."

"Well, maybe you should remind your friends in the United States government about a little thing called the _First Amendment_." She snapped out. "This is my duty and my responsibility as a journalist-"

"_Fuck_ you being a journalist, Robin!" He slammed his hand on the table, his eyes glowing red. "You think I don't know how important your journalistic integrity is to you? You threw our marriage away over it, so yeah, _I get it_. But even if our marriage meant nothing to you or-or-or I meant nothing to you, that doesn't mean I want you to end up dead."

"Meant nothing to me?" Robin stood up, slamming her hands on the table in unison with his, anger shaking through her. "You were the one who couldn't handle the fact that I was the successful one, that I was finally doing something with my life that meant more to me than being a pretty face! When I left World Wide News, I was finally taking the job I had dreamed about for years, and you resented me for it!"

"Oh, yes. Yes, you're right." He nodded patronizingly. "That's exactly what happened. I wanted Holly Housewife in the kitchen, making me sandwiches and doting on my every need, and never, _ever_ exceeding my level of success because my machismo just couldn't take it. That sounds exactly like me, right?"

"You never believed in my career." She hissed through her teeth. "You knew I was ambitious when we met and when you married me. You knew I wanted a life different from the cookie-cutter Marshall and Lily mold. You were supposed to be my partner in crime!"

"And I was going to be!" He shouted, grabbing his hair in frustration. "But _you_ changed the terms."

"What terms? What exactly did you think being a foreign correspondent meant, Barney?"

"You pushed me away." He clenched his jaw so tight she thought his facial muscles might explode. "You were so damn selfish, Robin. You refused to think about us as a unit, you just looked out for yourself. Or didn't, as it turns out."

"You. Left. Me." Robin choked out, angry that tears welled up in her eyes as much as she wanted to be strong. "You were the one who gave up. I wanted you there. I wasn't enough for you. _Love_ wasn't enough for you."

Barney flinched like he was physically stung and stood up, grabbing the back of the chair warily, not speaking, not moving.

"I..." He started, but then twitched his head, pinning a stone-hard shield on his face. "Just please trust me, just this one time. You need to leave Istanbul. You can't stay here."

Robin gasped out her tears a little, wrapping her arms around herself. Right. Of course he wasn't going to deny it. She wasn't enough. He was a weak coward who never loved her enough, couldn't accept her as she was. Just like she always knew that no man ever would, not really. Ted had always tried to change her, make her a woman she would never be. And if Barney, the man she thought was the love of her life, the only man who ever seemed to be in awe of her and all of her, couldn't handle it? Well, then no one ever would.

She closed her eyes and stared at her ex-husband, really feeling the words for the first time as true. He was pleading with her, begging her to go home, to go back to New York, to leave all of this behind her. But it wasn't just Istanbul, she knew that. It was everything.

"Go to hell, Barney." She finally whispered, tears openly running down her cheek. Hastily wiping them away, she threw enough lira on the table to cover both of their drinks. Sparing one last glance at him, now crumpled in defeat in the chair and staring vacantly into space, she shook her head and turned around, heading back to her room and her research.

...

Flipping through the teleprompter script before going live, Robin absentmindedly chewed the end of her pencil. None of it added up and it seemed like everywhere they turned, they were stonewalled by bureaucracy. Grunting a bit in frustration, Robin jotted down a quick revision, that she _was_ still indeed looking for the answers and that, despite what officials from the Turkish government said, they were absolutely _not _simply chalking it up to a mechanical error. In fact, her research and her sources definitively stated that it wasn't just an error, that the way the explosion hit couldn't have been possible without human interference. It just didn't add up.

And, of course, Greg was late, which meant they were losing time to get this quick update live before delving back into the heart of the matter. Not that she was really supposed to delving into the heart of the matter. She could hear her boss now telling her that she wasn't an intelligence agent, so she really shouldn't be going too far into the trenches. That's what sources were for, not reporters.

_Too many people in my life trying to hold me back_, she thought bitterly, desperately trying to forget her conversation with Barney just a day earlier. She figured he had probably flown back to New York by now. Just as well. She didn't really want to run into his disappointed and judgmental face again.

"Where the hell is Greg?" She shouted out to no one in particular. "We need to get this on air soon so we can move on. He told me that he has something new and big, so what's the deal?"

But the crewmen around her just shrugged and she was pulled aside for a quick make-up touch-up. Annoyed, she noted to herself that she wouldn't have even needed a touch-up if Greg had just gotten there on time. She glanced down at her watch.

_Seriously, where is he?_

And that's when the panic came in.

Amy was running towards her, screaming, "Ms. Scherbatsky! Robin! Ms. Scherbatsky!" and the crew raced around her like perturbed flies buzzing and buzzing. Cell phone were beeping and whirling and screaming and Robin felt like the calm of the storm, still not knowing, still not understanding.

The words slowly fell into place in her ear, but they fragmented in her brain.

"Shot, three places-"

"...leg, stomach-"

"-surgery, some American..."

"Greg Field...shot..."

"-have him in custody but agents took him..."

"...American hitman-"

"Non responsive-internal bleeding..."

Robin slowly backed against the wall, clutching her chest. Why wasn't _she_ panicking? She couldn't feel anything. Her extremities were numb. She had a panic attack days before, wasn't this more warranted?

Greg had been shot. Three times. In the leg, arm, and stomach. They were meant to be kill shots, but Greg had been too fast. But now he was in the hospital, in surgery.

He had been non responsive at the scene and they were concerned about internal bleeding as well as him bleeding out. But why would anyone shoot him? The intel? They said he was shot by an American. By an American hitman...or something. Probably an AltruCell goon. She knew they existed. Barney told her they existed...

Oh, god.

_Barney._

He had been right. And he knew. He knew they were going to target reporters.

He tried to warn her.

"Ms. Scherbatsky, you need to go to the hospital now." Amy was dragging her along, but Robin could barely feel anything. "His prognosis is good and we also need to get you out of this area now. GNN is sending everyone home, but you need to see Greg first."

"Why?" Robin asked vacantly, staring at Amy's hand on her arm and observing her own feet moving toward a car. "Why do I need to see him?"

"Because he doesn't have any family." The research analyst said softly. "You're all he's got."

Robin sat in the car and vaguely registered Amy giving directions to the driver.

_You're all he's got._

If it had been her, would the analyst have told Greg the same thing?

She didn't really want to know the answer to that question.

...

Weak winter light filtered through her hotel curtains at dawn, alighting Robin's eyelashes and nose until she blinked the cobwebs away. Her head felt heavy and her body ached and ached. She pulled the covers around her bare shoulder and nestled her head back into the strong, warm chest behind her, breathing in the intoxicating and familiar scent, but not daring to move more than that or look behind her.

She was too afraid he would simply vanish.

The past few days had been a blur. But the kind of blur that got you punch drunk and then kicked you in the groin, so to speak. Greg had survived the shooting, though he refused to speak more about the big intel he found, telling her that he told the appropriate intelligence agency what they needed to know and that it was over. For good. Furthermore, GNN shut down the entire story, simply noting that they were going to disconnect Greg's attempted murder and the factory explosion as much as possible, for the sake of their people. _Just let it go, Robin,_ Greg said. _It's for the best. We got too far into the belly of the beast._

She figured she could do that. For now. Maybe. But Greg promised to do so forever; he was leaving GNN and taking a recently offered position at The New Yorker, as an editor. _Let me know if you ever want to settle your life down, kid._He laughed and coughed at the same time. _You've always got a place on my staff. _And then Robin didn't really remember much of the next few nights, spending time at the hotel, going between her usual crying jags and drinking more than she had in years.

But she was hyperaware now, as his fingers slowly drew circles near her belly button, making her heart flutter and her temperature rise. His lips dipped onto her neck and she moaned. It was real. He was here. He was holding her, loving her, again. It wasn't all gone. It would never be all gone. He pulled her tight against his form and whispered her name against her hair, over and over and over again.

"Barney." She whispered back, half-moaning, half-sighing, rolling over and capturing his lips in hers, to which he responded with equal, rushed, passionate fervor.

Wrapping his strong arms around her frame, he pulled her as close to him as she could, both of them needing breath, but neither of them caring. Robin caressed her fingers along his sharp cheekbones and through his soft, slightly thinning hair, pressing her heart as close to his as she could. This was how it was supposed to be. This was how it was always supposed to be. Barn-man and Robin, forever and ever.

They had promised forever.

They would last forever.

Finally pulling his lips away, Barney rested his forehead against hers and let out several ragged breaths without opening his eyes, but running his hand through her hair, across her cheek, her lips, her ear. Finally, he frowned a little before pressing one short kiss against her lips and sighing.

And then, he was sitting up, his back muscles tense and all of the warmth in the room sucked into a sudden vacuum.

"Barney?" She sat up, wrapping the sheet around her body. His jaw clenched and he balled his side of the sheet in his hands as his only response.

"Are you..." Robin trailed off, feeling helpless as he stood up and threw his pants on, buckling them with shaking hands.

"Nothing's changed, Robin." He finally said, his voice that unusual monotone again, so different than how he had talked to her last night when he showed up at her door. There was no wink in his tone, no trademark modulation, no sighing, no aching love like only she ever heard. "I didn't expect this to happen last night."

"Well, every couple needs a backslide, right?" She tried to joke, to ignore the screaming in her gut and heart. Barney recoiled at that and shook his head.

"I heard that a GNN foreign correspondent was shot." He whispered, still not facing her. "I thought..."

"I know." Robin whispered back, even quieter than him if possible. She didn't know what else to say. He was buttoning his shirt, shrugging on his suit jacket. It was a routine she had seen a hundred times and hungered for each day. But he still wouldn't look at her, not as he rolled up his socks, tightly hugging to his calf muscles or pressed his smooth shoes onto his feet. Robin knew every inch of his body so intimately, but now he felt like a frozen tundra, foreign and isolated.

"I should have listened to you." She absentmindedly twisted the sheets in her sweaty palms. "You were right. I should have left."

Barney shrugged at that and stood up, adjusting his tie. His hands shook slightly and he jammed them into his pockets forcefully. He walked to the exit and stared at the keyhole, wavering between running through the door and running back to her. At least, Robin hoped that the latter crossed his mind, even a little. He looked over his shoulder at her, and he looked so much older than he used to.

"I'm glad it wasn't you." He said, his lips curling into a small smile, like he was almost laughing at the frankness and simplicity of his statement. And as he walked out the door and probably out of her life, Robin briefly wished it had been.

...

Dragging her luggage behind her, Robin quickly signed her check-out documents, providing proof of her journalist visa and that she wasn't planning on staying in the country longer than the few weeks indicated. The woman at the front desk was quiet but pleasant, and spoke perfect English.

"Heading back to the United States?" She asked, keying in a few notes into her computer. Robin nodded.

"For a little while. I'll probably head to China soon, though."

"Well, I hope you'll at least be able to celebrate the holidays with family and friends." The woman smiled. "It's a big day in America, no?"

"Sorry?" Robin put her hand on her hip, really not in the mood for small talk.

"It's December 25th, ma'am. Christmas Day." She smiled, handing Robin a few pieces of paper. "I don't personally celebrate, but many of our American guests have been trying to rush home."

"Oh." Robin took her papers and folded them neatly into her passport case. "Right. I guess it is a big day."

"Well, I hope you enjoy it." The woman smiled warmly. "And thank you for staying at the Four Seasons!"

Robin smiled tightly and turned around, dragging her luggage out into the cold street and into yet another private car.

All alone.

...

**Buenos Aires, Argentina, January 2016**

_Barney slowly sat down on the bed, his eyes dazed from the hangover and her question. Robin's heart raced, hoping against hope that he would tell her that she was crazy, that he would never, ever want to leave her, not in a million years._

_"Robin, I love you." He said, and her heart sank into her small intestine. "And when I married you, I promised to always be honest with you."_

_"Right." She whispered, staring at her hands and begging herself not to cry. She couldn't cry, because crying would make this real._

_"It's not about the wi-fi or even the travel." He said, bringing his hand to his forehead and laughing a little. "I mean, I'm not crazy, right? You know what this is really about?"_

_"No." She choked out. "I guess you'll have to tell me."_

_"Jesus, Robin." Barney thrust himself up and started pacing around the room. "I can't...I can't keep saying the same thing over and over again. It makes me feel like a lunatic and, despite what our friends might think, I'm actually not."_

_"Well, explain it one more time!" She demanded, refusing to move, possibly not able to move. This wasn't happening. This WASN'T happening._

_"Robin, why are we here?" He stopped, crossing his arms and leveling an accusatory look that Robin didn't understand. "In Argentina. Specifically."_

_"Because...of my job?" She genuinely didn't understand the question. Barney groaned and pulled a fist up to his mouth._

_"More specific than that." He spat out._

_"Because there's a political uprising that I need to cover."_

_"Right. Need. You needed to cover it." Barney sat back down and sighed. "Robin, you could have been covering the 5WH summit. Or we could be in Geneva right now. Or London. Interviewing politicians and staying the hell away from molotov cocktails. You know that. You're one of the most famous foreign correspondents in the world and you always have a choice of what to do next. And you always choose the most dangerous assignment."_

_"No, I don't!" Robin insisted. "I just choose the one that needs the most attention! My fame comes with certain responsibilities, Barney."_

_"You were kidnapped six months ago." He was staring at his hands now and Robin wondered if now he was trying not to cry. "I didn't see you for eight days. Do you have any idea what that was like? I didn't know if you were dead or alive or if you'd ever be recovered. And then when you were, you acted like nothing happened and immediately ran to the next story, without a thought for your recovery or mine."_

_"You wouldn't even let me tell our friends." As he continued, his eyes really were filling with tears and Robin felt a stony ice rise in her core. "You just kept dragging me to different countries, different riots, different dangerous situations and ignoring your panic attacks like you've always had them and lashing out when I tried to mention that, hey, maybe that's not normal. And me? All I can ever think about is you tied up somewhere in a dark dungeon. And not in the awesome way."_

_"Barney, I'm not going to apologize for caring about the more precarious situations in the world." Her pulled her teeth together hard and felt bile rise up in her throat. "What I do is bigger than me. If I chose the soft option every time, I would be a shitty journalist. So yeah, sometimes it will be rough and maybe... I have some issues that I need to work through, but all of this? It's the right thing to do. I need you to support me here."_

_"But you NEVER choose the soft option!" Barney exploded, pacing again, scratching at his neck. "Never! Not once. In fact, you go to the other extreme and you don't take care of yourself. And-and-and you always put yourself right in the center. You don't find the balance. You're reckless. It's like you WANT to be in danger. And-and-and when you chose to get married, you chose to be a unit. I should get some fucking consideration in these decisions."_

_"My job has nothing to do with you, Barney!"_

_"But your LIFE does, Robin!" He shouted. "And when your job impacts your life or-or-or THREATENS it so much? I should have a say!"_

_"Okay, well what about all those years you worked as an FBI mole, huh? Where you were going up against Goliath National Bank and fucking AltruCell? Where was my consideration?" She couldn't believe that Barney Stinson, of all people, was giving her a lecture about recklessness._

_Hypocrite._

_"I ended it as soon as we got married. I chose that timing for a reason. I did it for you. For us." He swallowed. "Yes, I still have some follow-up work, but I can promise you that I am in absolutely no danger. Can you make that same promise to me?"_

_"I'm a journalist." She said, hugging her body. "I don't think any journalist worth their salt can ever make that promise."_

_"Well, can you promise me that you're not putting yourself in dangerous situations unnecessarily?"_

_Robin didn't respond to that. Barney nodded and choked out a laugh._

_"Right." He bit the inside of his cheek and sat down. "Well, here's where I'm at. Unless you can really promise to start choosing less hazardous assignments, then I don't think this can work. I can't stand by and watch you put your life at risk over and over again, with no regard for yourself."_

_He swallowed hard and looked at her through his lashes. "Those are my terms. What-what do you think?"_

_"Barney, this is who I am." Robin pleaded, "This is what I have to do. I promised myself years ago, before I even knew you, that I would make a difference. And getting kidnapped and surviving? That showed me that I have what it takes. You have to understand that. Please understand that."_

_But instead, Barney just broke down, holding his head in his hands, tears flowing through his criss-crossed fingers. And Robin's heart was sliced in two. After a few moments, he finally sat up and stared at her, desperation painted on his face and he laughed a little, taking her hand._

_"Then, yeah, Robin." He managed to get out. "I'm going to need to take that exit ramp."_

_"But we were supposed to still want each other when we're 80." Robin sobbed out, tears suddenly flowing down her cheeks like an unstoppable rainfall. Barney gasped out a sob of his own and grabbed her hand as tightly as he could._

_"I have no doubt that I will." He said, his voice forceful and weak at the same time. "But I can't worry every day that you won't even see 40. I can't have a front row seat to that, Robin. I'm sorry. I love you so damn much. I'm just...I'm sorry."_

_With all of her verbal responses dying on her tongue, Robin simply reached over and held Barney against her as tightly as he could. He responded in kind, apologizing repeatedly into her hair._

_And they stayed like that for a long, long time._

...

**Upper East Side, New York City, New York, 2030**

"Wow." Ted sat back. "I...had no idea."

"We decided not to get into the nitty-gritty with everyone." Robin sighed. "I think we were always too independent for our own good. We might still be. But if we had admitted that our problems weren't so trite, we would have actually had to look at ourselves and we weren't ready for that. Well, I wasn't. I was in my 30s, but I was still really young in a lot of ways."

"I didn't know your job was so dangerous. Is it still that dangerous?" Ted asked and she simply laughed.

"Ted, I run my own business, remember?" She leaned her arm back on her chair. "Sure, sometimes I miss the excitement of journalism, but it's better now. It's healthier. And I'm more than fulfilled."

"So that's it? You and Barney broke up because of your job-"

"It was really my undiagnosed PTSD. We didn't know how to handle it." Robin interjected. "My therapist said my childhood traumas initially put me in serious risk and then my kidnapping triggered it."

"Oh. Right." Ted shook his head. "I guess there was a lot I didn't know."

"Not your fault." Robin smiled. "I'm not always the most forthcoming."

"And The Understatement of Year Award goes to..." He jokingly pretended to open an envelope and chuckled.

"God, you're such a _dad_." She snorted and Ted grinned a little.

"Did you ever find out what happened with that factory?" He asked, "Sounds like it impacted you hard."

Robin sadly shook her head. "No. Life doesn't always wrap up as neatly as you want it to, Ted. Some stories, even important ones, just trail on forever with no resolution."

"But not you and Barney."

"Apparently not." Her smile was bright and warm this time, and Ted felt a pang of grief for Tracy. It was how she used to look at him.

"So it must have been years before you guys talked again." Ted surmised. "It's not like your journalism career ended anytime soon."

Surprisingly, Robin laughed at that and shook her head.

"Ted, you are seriously underestimating the twists and turns in this story." She smiled again, like a warm memory flushed over her. "Actually, it was only four months later. It was under drastically different circumstances and you know what? While it didn't change much, it also changed everything..."

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter Two

**Title:** "Your Devils and Your Deeds"

**Chapter: **2/10  
**Author:** Anna-Yes-Ma'am  
**Rating:** Hard R (Language, sexual content)  
**Summary:** A view of the finale that Ted Mosby didn't see and couldn't see, no matter how much the writing was on the wall. Spanning decades and continents, their story was never perfect and they were never perfect, but they were always right.  
**Characters/Pairings:** Barney/Robin

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for all the lovely comments! I'll try to get updates up quickly, but I have a job with crazy hours so my spare time varies wildly. But it's been very therapeutic to write. :) This chapter catches us up on Mr. Stinson's side of things. And even if it seems like I may be veering from some of the nastier bits of canon (or "canon" as I now like to think of it)...don't get your hopes too far up.

_..._

_On the back of the cartoon coaster_  
_In the blue TV screen light_  
_I drew a map of Canada_  
_(O Canada)_  
_With your face sketched on it twice_

...

**East Village, New York City, New York, May 2014**

_"ROXANNE!" Robin threw a drunken hand up in the air, while her husband bounced excitedly on his feet as she sang off-key into a dirty microphone, "You don't have to put on the red liiiiiiight...ROXANNE! Put on the red liiiiiiiiiight..."_

_And though the rest of the crowd barely acknowledged the end of her epic and awesome song, Barney jumped to his feet and hollered out his appreciation, holding out his fruity drink for her to grab when she returned. Giving him a cheshire cat smile, Robin bowed and snatched the hurricane glass, shooting it back into her mouth and finishing it in one gulp._

_"Ah, the sweet taste of karaoke victory." She slammed the empty container on the table, falling into her laughing husband just a little as she sat in her wobbly chair. "And hey, marriage victory! One year anniversary!"_

_"What up, Mrs. Stinson!" Barney high-fived her over his head and ignored her insistence that she was actually Mrs. Scherbatsky-Stinson. She'd give up that terrible Canadian monstrosity sooner or later. Yeah, yeah, independence, individuality, blah, blah, blah. Stinson was objectively a better name; she couldn't deny that. Even if, you know, he'd always kind of see her as Robin Scherbatsky, Woman of All Women. But she didn't need to know that._

_"But you-" She poked his chest firmly and his heart swelled at her adorableness. "You didn't even notice that I picked that song for you!"_

_"Because...you think all the women I used to sleep with were basically prostitutes?" It was the only explanation he could think of for why she'd sing The Police's famous plea to a call girl. He patted her hand, "Babe, that's pretty weird."_

_She screeched out laughter and pushed him. "No, dummy! No. Remember, when we first met? Literally, the first night we actually talked."_

_"Are you sure it's literally?"_

_She glared. "Fine. The first time we ever had a significant conversation, after Ted introduced me to the group. You kept calling me Roxanne."_

_Barney laughed genuinely, suddenly remembering. "Holy shit, I completely forgot about that! I was being such an ass."_

_"You say that like it's not your typical Modus operandus." She giggled, stealing his maraschino cherry and trying (and failing) to tie the stem in a knot with her tongue. He snorted and held his hand out, into which she immediately spit the fruit with a sheepish grin._

_"Is that, like, a Harry Potter spell or something? Accio, more drinks!" Barney swished his hand in the air and Robin bubbled up laughter from her chest._

_"Wow, you are super drunk." She finally said, rubbing his arm and kissing his cheek, eliciting a hum from Barney's throat. "So am I. Clearly, more drinks is the only option."_

_"Didn't we promise Ted we'd never get that drunk again?"_

_"Ted is lame!" Robin slammed her hand on the table. "Now, get me more drinks!"_

_Barney instead just leaned in to kiss her and laughed against her mouth. "In a little. I think they are actually still on their way. He just texted saying that they got held up, but that they're now really, seriously coming. I was like, yeah, I'll bet you are...but more like 50/50 chance for Tracy." He paused and looked at the ceiling, recalculating. "40/60."_

_"Man, they've been at it like bunnies lately."_

_"Yeah, but probably exclusively in the missionary position, so it doesn't really count."_

_"They're basically Amish." Robin's eyes shone in the dim light of the bar and Barney snorted._

_"But they'd better show up soon! We're here for two reasons. One-" He took her hand and pulled her up from their seats, dipping her into a kiss despite her giggling protests. "It's our anniversary. And two, someone's got an important-"_

_"No, no, no! Barney!" Robin stood straight up and swatted at him, nearly in earnest. "You promised you wouldn't mention it! You're going to jinx me!"_

_"Psh, like any jinx could have power over the awesomeness that is you, Robin Stinson."_

_"Scherbatsky-Stinson."_

_"Whatever. My point is that this interview is just a formality and you know it." He bopped her nose with his index finger and she raised her eyebrows, thoroughly unconvinced. "You're the most incredible, capable, rockin' journalist out there and frankly, it's insulting that Global News Network is not just in a bidding war over you."_

_"That's not how it works. I'm up against serious competition."_

_"Bah." He waved his hand and smirked. "There's no competition when you're in the game, baby. We are going to have the best life ever - adventuring around the world together, constant hotel sex, doing it in different time zones. It will be awesome! So awesome, in fact, that I'll even concede to go to France with you, should the occasion arise."_

_"Wow," Robin furrowed her brow teasingly, rubbing the nape of his neck. "That's quite the sacrifice."_

_"I mean, I'm talkin', like, once. Tops. Maybe even just a Skype call, but with the video chat on. We'll work it out."_

_"Yes, we will." She smiled brightly and leaned in for another kiss._

_"So proud of you." He murmured against her lips, his curling into a smile. "My kick-ass wife."_

_"Mmm, and my still slightly tone-deaf but generally super awesome husband."_

_"Aw." Barney tilted his head. "You're getting so mushy on me."_

_"Well, it IS our anniversary." She wrapped her arms around his waist and he chuckled his appreciation, gently placing a kiss on her temple._

_"So." Barney reluctantly pulled away and looked at his watch. "Ted is officially one hour late. Usual punishment?"_

_"I'll tell the barkeep to put 'Girls Just Want To Have Fun' into the karaoke rotation so it's ready when he gets here."_

_"He knows the drill."_

_"Ooh, and Tracy said she'd film this time!"_

...

**Toronto, Ontario, Canada, March 2017**

Smoothing down the lapels of his suit, Barney Stinson sniffed the putrid air and barked out a hollow laugh. It had been years since he had been to this awful hellhole, but the stench, the rot, the way rats may as well swarm the streets... it was still the same, if not a thousand - nay, a _million_ - times worse and every muscle in his body stood on edge, desperate to flee, yet stark and still as bone.

Adjusting his aviators with grumbling resignation, he knew in his gut that fleeing wasn't an option. Oh, no. He had a duty. He had a reason for being here, in the sweaty trenches, with the dogs.

He needed to face it head on, like a man.

"Hello there!" The driver had just pulled up to the airport curbside with his window down, smiling and waving at Barney. "Are you Mr. Stinson? Awfully sorry I'm late, sir, but the traffic gets bad this time-a day, doncha know? But at least spring seems to have sprung nice'n early! Let me get your bags for you, eh?"

"Christ." Barney muttered under his breath, sneering his lips as the perfectly pleasant man grabbed his several large pieces of luggage ("Watch the Vuitton!" he growled out) and handed him a large Tim Horton's coffee ("I always like to bring my customers a nice cup of hot coffee for the road!" the driver explained to Barney's disgust).

Settling his way into the backseat of the private car (not even a Mercedes, a nice, respectable, _American_ company), Barney pulled out his iPhone 7TSx and typed a quick winky face (_classic_) to his latest play, a requisite 'I didn't die in a fiery crash you crazy insane person' to Tracy, and let his booking agent know that he expected reservations at some sort of decent restaurant that didn't serve poutine. Putting his phone back in his pocket (and absolutely ignoring the usual phantom urges to call...someone else), he sipped delicately on the coffee, being sure to make faces at the flavor. It just wasn't the same as good ol' American coffee.

"I think most places get their coffee from Colombia, sir!" The driver said happily. "But I'm very sorry if you're not enjoying it. A lot of Americans are more used to Starbucks, which has a stronger flavor."

"It's fine." Barney responded curtly, wishing that people automatically knew when he was talking to himself versus trying to engage. So annoying.

"Just let me know if there's anything I can do to make your drive even more comfortable and pleasant!"

_"_Really," Barney insisted through his teeth. "I'm fine."

It was really just his luck that the one conference that could finally put Legendary Lifestyles on the map would require him to so fully degrade himself. Ted was always going on and on about how someday Barney would have to pay for his sins and how karma would get him in the end. _Well, justice has just been served ice cold, buddy_, Barney thought bitterly, staring out at the desolate wasteland around him. Rationally, he knew that beggars couldn't be choosers. Emerging lifestyle management companies that didn't involve heavy iPhone app support and weren't coming out of Silicon Valley were a struggling entity. So to be chosen as the keynote speaker for the biggest lifestyle management conference in the world? Well, that was nothing to sneeze at.

But as he stepped out of the car and onto the curb of the large conference hotel, a swarm of cheerful and helpful employees eagerly attending to his every need, Barney wondered whether it was really, truly worth it. Handing the busboy a quick tip for pulling his luggage out of the car's trunk, the young employee beamed and smiled up at Barney's scowling face.

"Thank you so much, sir! Have a wonderful day! Oh...and welcome to Canada!"

_Ugh._

...

He had gotten used to spending time in hotel lobbies over the past few years of his life, so Barney wasn't surprised when he automatically relaxed upon settling into a large, oversized leather love seat facing the concierge desk, a tall and strong drink in his hand. True, going from hotel to hotel had taken more energy than he had ever anticipated when the job offer first came to fruition, but there was always a certain luxury and charming solitude in a hotel lobby, even now, after everything had gotten so screwed up.

Before, the two of them had an unspoken tradition where, no matter what time her shoot ended, they would meet in the lobby every night, order one glass of the finest scotch (which ranged from decades old Macallan to some kind of cheap moonshine with food coloring in it) and sip it together, going over their days in detail. Yes, usually she had more to share, but Barney didn't mind. She was a journalist for a reason. As much as Ted had claimed the role of Official Storyteller (_lame_), Robin always breathed such strength and passion into her words and evoked such detail that Barney could listen to her for hours, even if she was talking about, like, Nordic financial deals or something equally dull and stupid. And of course, he would always tell her his own stories, per her request. They were usually (read: always) made up and fantastical, but she would laugh and they would laugh and the moments were sacred, which was not something Barney said often, if ever.

But three weeks after the kidnapping, Robin called him after filming to let him know she was too tired to meet in the lobby. And then it just never happened again.

"Turn that shit off." Barney suddenly barked, breaking himself out of his own reverie. The confused lobby bartender looked behind him and muttered an apology, quickly changing the hotel's television channel from GNN Canada to The Shopping Channel. Barney cracked his neck and smoothed his tie. The last thing he needed was some Chilean earthquake ruining his soon-to-be buzz. Sipping his gin and tonic (_not scotch_), he scanned the room through slit eyes and spotted a young (_enough_) blonde, clearly flustered from a hard day of business travel. He sized her up quickly and pegged her as an administrative assistant, American, and looking for a way to blow off some steam.

His lips snaked into something that almost felt like a smile and he pushed all thoughts of his ex to the quietest corner of his always screaming mind. He fluidly moved his way to the woman's small table and perched above her.

"You look tense." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Let Daddy take care of that for you."

"If you don't immediately take your hands off me," she hissed, her elbow sharply jabbing into his abdomen, "I will scream for the police."

Barney backed up with his hands in the air, resisting the urge to rub his acutely aching stomach.

"They're called mounties here." He offered helpfully, and she glared at him, moving away and spitting out a sharp "creep!" at him as she rushed to the elevator. Barney sighed and sat in her abandoned seat. He couldn't blame her. That_had_ been creepy. He used to be so good at charming women into his bed, but after the divorce, well... something shifted. Something that seemed to have no origin or defied all kinds of rational explanation.

It was almost as though he didn't have game anymore.

_"Maybe you aren't happy playing the field." Marshall offered with a pointed look over his beer. "You were married for three years. Sure, it ended between you and Robin, but that doesn't mean all hope for your future is totally lost. __Maybe now you realize there's more to life and more ways to be happy than just bedding as many women as possible."_

_"Nah, that's not it." Barney immediately bulldozed, eliciting an eye roll from the gang as they all sat at their semi-usual MacLaren's booth a week earlier. "But it's got to be something! I mean, these women are resisting the irresistible."_

_His friends nodded silently, pointedly not responding._

_"The one thing to which no woman can ever say no!"_

_Still nothing._

_"I'm talking about my dong."_

_But Marshall merely chuckled. "Self-sabotage, my disgusting friend. Self-sabotage."_

Of course, Marshall was probably right, as he frustratingly usually was, but Barney really needed this self-sabotage shit to cut the hell out. It wasn't like he was trying to have terrible game or not get laid. While he was sure Lily and Tracy romanticized his failings as unspoken feelings for Robin, it wasn't so simple.

Did he still have feelings for Robin? Of course. He still loved her. Hell, he was still _in_ love with her. And he was pretty sure she was still in love with him too.

But their lives had become toxic, and the still fairly recent happenings in Istanbul proved that his ex-wife was going down an unhealthy rabbit hole that Barney wanted no part of, no matter how much it hurt to watch her put herself at risk. At this point, it was almost like dealing with an alcoholic or something. Would it be ideal if he could stand by her while she worked through her demons? Of course. But at the end of the day, if there was no progress, then there was only enablement.

Or something. His shrink was really pretty worthless most of the time.

(_"You have severe abandonment and trust issues stemming from your childhood and it impacted your marriage more than you realized, particularly after the trauma resulting from the incident in San Salvador." Really, genius? That's your takeaway? No shit, fuckin' Sherlock._)

Did it mean that he didn't miss her every single day? No. Of course he did.

Did it mean that he didn't still worry about her, his heart clenching in his chest and throat every time he heard GNN's ominous theme music? Of course not. He still barely slept, even if he told her that he had disconnected his fears when he left her.

Did it mean that, if she called him to tell him that she was getting the help she needed and moving back to New York, that he wouldn't be there at her doorstep ready to sweep her back into his arms and start over, possibly in order to open that bed & breakfast in Vermont, where they would have three dogs (named Darth Mal, Joffrey, and Johnny Lawrence, after the three greatest heroes in cinema history) and get to know their charming tenants, learning from their wisdom and growing stronger in their marriage every day? And where, like, Robin could still write for prestigious publications, but on an as needed basis, and Barney's book sales would keep them afloat, but not so much that either of them had to work twelve hour days anymore? So they could spend most of the time making love and taking real vacations together, watching sunsets and growing old on that famed front porch where Lily and Marshall and Ted and Tracy played bridge, while Barney and Robin threw spitballs in their hair and then blamed the other before erupting into immature old people giggles?

He hadn't thought about it much, but sure, that sounded fine.

But at the end of the day, the two of them were where they were, or some other zen bullshit that his shrink and his brother tried to shove down his throat. Robin was halfway around the world and all Barney had were his friends and his growing business. And his suits, of course, but they were a given. He and Robin weren't together anymore, so he deserved to at least try and move on, in whatever way he could. And there was only really one way that he knew or made any kind of sense to him.

Besides, Robin had clearly been fucking that Greg guy, so didn't Barney deserve a little relief himself?

His hand curled tightly around the arm of the chair and he took several deep breaths. He really needed to get out of this funk. It wasn't like he was in Canada for his health; Legendary Lifestyles was vaguely doing well, and if he wanted it to be any sort of success, he needed to nail his keynote speech the next morning. Running his sweaty palms over his tired face, he resisted the urge to sit back in defeat. All his life, he had known, with such certainty, that his awesomeness was unparalleled - or, at the very least, that he could sell it. After marrying Robin, everything seemed to go perfectly into place. He was whole, he was alive, he could talk about his past experiences without secretly fearing that they were indicators for his future.

But now? Now, he wasn't so sure. Hell, he wasn't even sure how _he_ was supposed to live. What right did he have to tell anyone else what they should do? If he couldn't even get a blonde administrative assistant in a foreign country to go to bed with him and all he thought about was whether his ex-wife was dead or alive or thinking of him too, was he really the authority anymore? Frankly, he couldn't imagine anyone wanting to end up like him.

He didn't even want to end up like him.

Closing his eyes, Barney gave in and sat back, sighing heavily. Maybe he really was too old for this shit.

...

His speech sucked.

Sure, his booking agent had given it a rousing stamp of approval ("I mean, it was...okay"), but Barney knew the writing on the wall. He was 42 years old, a recent divorcee, and he didn't know how to connect with his target demographic anymore. He could shout about how legendary and awesome he was to the rooftops, but that didn't mean anyone had to believe it. And what reason did they have to believe it? Based on what they saw, he was old dude performing magic tricks and trying to hard to get everyone to like him and buy products that even Barney didn't really believe in anymore.

Not that he would be admitting it to his friends anytime soon, of course. They would just be too...weird. Or pitying. And there was nothing Barney hated more than their pity. He almost saw it when he and Robin announced their divorce, and he shut that shit down as hard and fast as he could. His hands shaking wildly, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette as he stood in front of the hotel smoking area, contemplating his next steps.

_Fuck it._

He probably should have just taken that permanent NSA job when he had the chance.

He lit his cigarette and took a deep breath, luxuriating in the nicotine filling his lungs. He hadn't smoked in a long time, not really since his bachelor party, upon his belief that Robin was leaving him. _Saucy minx. _Pretty soon after, she had quit suddenly and joyously (around their honeymoon), and expected Barney to follow suit. But he didn't need to shield his habit from his wife anymore. She wasn't his wife. She wasn't even his friend. So smoking this cigarette here, without Robin, without a career, without anything? He deserved it. It was pure, unadulterated freedom and that was all he wanted out of life.

Of course, his stupid body clearly wasn't listening to his brain because, without conscious realization and clearly through muscle memory alone, his cell phone had hit his first speed dial and was against his ear. And a familiar voice (_god, so familiar_) had just said:

"Barney? Barney, what's wrong? Why are you calling me?"

He smiled a little and everything he wanted to say was lost in his throat, surrounded by cigarette smoke.

"I'm in Canada." He finally spoke, his voice softer than usual and he could practically hear her brow furrow on the other end of the line.

"Canada? What...what are you talking about? Is someone dead?"

"No one is dead." He laughed and took a drag on his cigarette. "I'm just...I'm in Canada. I had an inexplicable urge to tell you that and now I have."

"Oh." She was silent for a moment and Barney felt a pit tear at his stomach. He had called her on a whim, a whim that wasn't even fully conscious and the chasm between them was suddenly so gaping and so painful. Really, it's not like they had ended things on a positive note where he could just call her up and they could chat. Istanbul had been a disaster and it really wasn't that long ago.

But he felt words flow out of him, unstoppable.

"My company is dead in the water." He laughed hollowly. "I was called in to give a keynote speech for a conference. I blew it."

"Oh." She said again, and Barney wanted to throttle her through the phone even though he knew he had no right, that he should have no expectation.

"I'm not writing the blog anymore." He said, shaking in breaths of smoke. "I don't know what to do. My work with the FBI is done, my work with the NSA is done, and the one thing I thought I was good at is done. I failed."

He tried laughing again, but no sound came out. Meanwhile, Robin was silent for what felt like ages.

"Look..." She finally spoke, cautiously and grinding her teeth and he could have sworn he heard a nearly imperceptible sniffle. "You're the smartest person I know. And you know I always thought the whole lifestyle management thing was beneath your capabilities and you passions. I'm having a hard time seeing this as a failure because I'm pretty sure that you didn't really _want_ it to succeed. Otherwise, it would have. So what do you want, Barney?"

_You._

He almost said it. But the way she said his name was different now and he knew it wasn't what she needed to hear. And it's not like he could promise anything would change, even if it was everything he meant, deep in his heart.

"I don't know." He said instead, leaning against the hotel facade. "I don't even know what I can do."

"You can do anything." Her smile came through the phone and warmed him to his toes. "Take your time, man. You've got the money to sit on it for a while. No reason to be so career-obsessed unless you're a crazy storm chaser like me."

"A crazy _Canadian_ storm chaser." He amended, his tone lighter. "Really, I've seen your face all over your damn country. Your success is all they have to live for here, really."

It was true. There was even a Robin Scherbatsky statue in a nearby park, though he hadn't been able to bring himself to go see it.

"Hey now." Robin's voice was deadly serious over the line and Barney was suddenly worried he said the wrong thing. "...That's _our_ damn country, buddy."

_God, he would never stop being in love with her. _

Swallowing that thought into his core and pushing it into the patented Not Gonna Deal With It part of his psyche, he genuinely laughed and shook his head.

"Curse you, woman." He grinned, his cigarette falling to his side, still held between his index and middle finger. "I swear to god, this country is trying to suck me into some kind of politeness and venison vortex. Because for one thing, deer is not food. It is a majestic American creature that should be shot dead and then mounted on walls in scotch bars. And secondly, did you know that my driver actually bought me a cup of coffee yesterday? Just to, like, be nice? What the fuck is that about?"

"The horror." She deadpanned.

"Exactly! It _was_ horrible. Thank you for understanding."

She laughed and he died a little and then they were both silent, aware of the vast distance between them both figuratively and likely literally.

"Where are you now?" He asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

"I'm actually in New York." She answered to his surprise. "But I'm at JFK. I'm heading to Mumbai."

He knew better than to ask _why _she was headed to Mumbai, though he would likely find out within the next few days, even hours.

So he settled on a simple: "Ah. Is your flight soon?"

"Yeah, I actually should get going." She sounded genuinely apologetic and he brought the cigarette up to his lips again. "It's weird that you called, but I'm glad you did. It was nice to hear your voice in a semi-normal way."

Barney's throat felt heavy and he nodded. "I know what you mean."

"Anyway, I really do need to go. Duty calls." Her voice was serious and Barney reminded himself that nothing had changed.

"Thanks for listening to me ramble, Scherbatsky." He hadn't called her by her last name in years, since before they ever got involved. She didn't seem to notice though, as he could hear her rustling with papers or possibly her luggage.

"Uh-huh, nice to hear from you." She was distracted and moving further away from him. "Okay, bye now, love you."

The earth stood still on its axis and Barney couldn't feel his legs. A full solid beat of silence passed before he heard her cough and laugh, awkwardly, in that way she always did when she said something she didn't mean to say.

"Wow. Uh, sorry. I guess old habits die surprisingly hard, huh?" She was referring to the fact that what said said (_Okay, bye now, love you_) was always the last thing she said to Barney, every time, whether she was getting on a plane and leaving him in New York, or walking out of the hotel room and into the fire and gunpowder that was her job. He was still frozen, but the rational part of his brain urged him to say something or do anything.

He faked a laugh. "No problem. I totally get it."

_"Actually, no." Barney said forcefully, making Robin gasp. "It actually is a problem, because you meant it. You had to have meant it. You still love me."_

_"Of course I meant it, but what am I supposed to do?" She demanded._

_"You're supposed to come back to me." Barney felt gravel in his throat and blinked back tears. "Do you know what my life has been like this past year? Do you have any idea? I miss you so goddamn much and I don't know what to do. Every day, I have to face myself in the mirror and I'm lost and I'm broken and nothing is the way it was supposed to be."_

_"It hasn't exactly been a picnic for me either." She sighed. "But I'm stuck here. I don't even know how to come back to you."_

_"Let me help you. Please, I tried so hard to help you and I thought that by leaving I really WAS helping you the most, but I was wrong. I was so wrong, Robin. I miss you. I love you. I want you. I always want you. Everything in my life is worse without you and I'm a joke, a failure of a human being."_

_"You're never a failure, Barney." She whispered. "But our lives aren't so simple."_

_"We can work together. We'll go to counseling, we'll find you a writing job where you'll still be fulfilled, I promise. I just don't know where to turn or how to move forward without you. I feel so empty. Do you feel the same way?"_

_"Of course I do." She cried. "Oh, screw it! Come to New York. Come find me. I'll wait for you here. I'll wait for you at MacLaren's, like I promised so long ago. And I'll be there this time, I really will."_

_"I'm on my way, baby." He immediately shot his hand in the air. "Taxi!"_

"But Barney, if that's all, I really do have to go."

Reality sank in and Barney stared at his cigarette, halfway burned through.

"Robin, can we talk once in awhile?" He asked, surprising himself. He heard her breath catch in her throat, but then she breathed out, exuding calm.

"Yes." She said softly. "I'd really like that."

She quietly hung up and he stared into space, for just a moment, letting the past 24 hours sink over him in all its crushing, delightful, horrible glory. Taking one last long inhale of his cigarette, Barney tossed it on the ground and smiled.

...

**Upper West Side, New York City, New York, September 2005**

_"Yo, Roxanne!" He smirked to himself as the tall, shapely brunette walked purposefully ahead of him. "C'mon, Roxanne, I don't bite hard, I promise. Wanna split a cab? Roxaaaaaaane."_

_Stopping suddenly, she spun quickly around, her face flushed with anger (the closest emotion to arousal, as far as Barney was concerned), furious and pointing a slender finger at his chest. He simply smirked harder. He was right there, under her skin._

_"Listen, man." She said, slightly breathless. "Ted says you're his weird, creepy friend who thinks he can get any woman in bed, so I really don't know why I even care, but my name is ROBIN."_

_"For one thing, only nerds are weird and creepy. I am smooth and seductive." He smiled in a way that demonstrated his point and she rolled her eyes, though her pupils dilated all the same. "Secondly, I absolutely can get any woman into bed, it's just a matter of time. And thirdly, of course I know your name is Robin. I have eidetic memory. I just think Roxanne is much sexier, don't you?"_

_"Well, despite my new friend Lily thinking it's a possibility, I will never, ever, EVER sleep with you."_

_"Sure, but only because I'm letting Ted have you. For now."_

_She balked and her sexy little mouth hung open, making offended sounds and her hands planted firmly on her hips. Her eyes then fired up in a way that would have turned Barney on if it wasn't nearly as terrifying as Lily's 'Dead to Me' look. He gulped as she rounded on him, inches from his face._

_"Let's get one thing straight, okay, bucko? No one ever "lets" anyone "have" me. I am Robin fucking Scherbatsky. I call the shots, understood?"_

_"Deeply understood." He breathed out, a bit starstruck._

_"And what's my name?" She was pushed up against him and Barney knew that he could kiss her, were it not for stupid Ted. 'Fuck the Bro Code!', every fiber of his being screamed._

_"Your name is Robin." He pushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "And you're the boss."_

_"Damn straight." She mirrored his own smirk back at him and pushed away, effectively killing his chance to happily burn the Bro Code in the nearby trash can. "It's just not gonna happen, dude."_

_"I always get the yes, Scherbatsky." He countered, not moving for fear of giving away his, uh, more precarious situation. She belly-laughed with her head thrown back._

_"Good luck with that."_

_"Come on." He leveled his gaze at her and raised an eyebrow. "Don't play coy with me."_

_"I rarely play." She mused, putting her finger on her chin. "I'm pretty serious and boring."_

_"Uh-huh."_

_She laughed again at that and quickly hailed a cab. "Good night, Barney. I'm sure I'll see you around occasionally now."_

_"Guess so." He itched desperately for a cigarette, but couldn't take his eyes off her gracefully ducking into the cab. "Good night."_

_And as she waved her hand out of the taxi window, Barney took a deep breath and grinned. Normally, this was where he would say "challenge accepted," letting the world know in whatever small measure that he had his eye on a target and would reach satisfaction. But this time the words wouldn't form or couldn't form, and he just watched the tail lights of the cab (her cab) as they drove away into the New York night._

_Shrugging, Barney finally found a cigarette and lit it, taking a deep breath in. Forget Roxanne, he thought, even as her real name bounced around mercilessly in his mind. Forget the whole thing, really. There was no reason to muse on it or give it a second's thought. If she ever came to his door, sure, he'd have a little fun, Ted be damned. But now? Now, the night was young and alive and ready to be taken into his very, very capable hands._

_And Barney Stinson?_

_That guy's awesome._

...

**Upper East Side, New York City, New York, 2030**

"Bullshit!" Ted exclaimed, surprisingly jubilant. Robin frowned and leaned back.

"Bullshit?" She repeated, arching a perfect eyebrow. "You've never even heard this story before."

"Exactly!" He pointed a finger directly into the air with flourish. "But I know some of the details personally and, thus, I call bullshit. Barney might have technically put Legendary Lifestyles to rest, but he explained in pretty extensive detail that it was because of investor problems. He doesn't have a self-doubting bone in his body, but he's practical when it comes to cash flow."

"Of course he told you that." She rolled her eyes patronizingly. "You think he was going to show up at the bar saying, 'Hey guys, I've realized that my entire business is really a mid-life crisis-cum-compensation for my heartbreak following a divorce'? Jesus, he has some self-respect."

"For the last time, expressing your true feelings to your friends does not mean you lack self-respect." Ted responded through gritted teeth, sighing when Robin simply shrugged a single shoulder. "You really haven't changed much, huh?"

"I've changed vastly, but probably not in ways that are necessarily appealing to you." She stated point-blank, her words a hot knife through butter. "Same with Barney."

"Yeah, but it's not like he went celibate after this probably made-up little conversation." He countered, his annoyance palpable. "He wrote a second Playbook and used it. He used it a lot."

But she simply nodded. "I know. Believe me, it pissed me off once upon a time too. It even made me think that I should have married you."

Ted blinked, his eyes slowly widening until she waved a dismissive hand in the air.

"He could always get under my skin." She explained, wringing her hands a little. "Enough that I basically wanted him surgically removed for awhile. Focusing on our-" She pointed between the two of them "-failed relationship made it easier, because then it wasn't about Barney vacillating on whether he still cared about me, which would have been unthinkably painful. Instead, it was that I had messed up by getting involved with him in the first place. I think in my manic state, that was easier to take."

Robin swallowed.

"I said that our phone conversation when he was in Canada changed everything, but I also meant it when I said it changed very little. We were in contact again, but it made it hurt all the more when he relapsed back into sleeping around. But it hurt him just as badly, maybe worse, when I was front-and-center in the Polish war zone in the summer of 2017. We both dug into our mutual addictions and further apart from each other. Again. A friendship wasn't really sustainable, but without that contact? I don't think we would have spoken ever again after Istanbul."

She smiled lightly. "I think it also convinced both of us, however subconsciously, that we shouldn't ever really give up, no matter how bad it got."

"And how bad did it get?" Ted asked, tilting his head a little.

Robin's smile faltered.

"Bad."

_To be continued..._


End file.
